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Process

Oh dear, hasn’t there been a lot of fuss over this Doctorette malarkey?

I guess it was inevitable that once the announcement was made that the new Doctor Who would be played by Jodie Whittaker there would be a huge vocal digestion in the world of social media and them newspaper columns.

For some this is a positive sign that our ever-changing culture is being reflected in popular TV programming, as this seems to be the perfect Venn meeting between feminism and the T part of LGBT. Whereas for others it’s a sure sign of a crumbling society as marginal groups are apparently afforded unchecked influence over our mainstream media’s output.

For me, it’s neither of those two, it’s simply lazy creativity.

Whilst I recognise the cheers or jeers from the various camps are genuine expressions of delight or disdain, as elation or fear is projected back at screen-bathed faces by the winking pixels of a blonde actress – I admit I have no stake in this time travelling horse.

For me, this is about the artistic process and the nature of creativity. Let me explain as briefly as I can as there’s a distinct possibility this is not going to be of any interest to you.

Allow me to present two types of art (get ready for some pretentious and clumsy misuse of art terms).

The first is a form of creativity that responds to and reflects the world and environment in which it is created. This being the concerns or thoughts that inhabit the public consciousness at that point in time, which are then filtered through the artist’s own perspective and musings, to then find an outlet onto the printed page or canvas or other media. Most art falls into this category.

The second is a form of creativity that looks beyond its current circumstances; maybe not even consciously, the artist seeks a form of expression or subject matter that is not currently available within their world. A way of thinking, or an approach to a subject or medium that is not housed within the available public consciousness.

Examples of this are easy to find, particularly in music (The Beatles experimental period, David Bowie’s early work, and a fair few classical composers) and the visual arts of course (Paul Klee, Paul Cezanne, even Banksy – whose first name could also be Paul). I’m sure you can think of several pioneers yourself from the world of comics, cinema, theatre, writing and fashion.

For me, there’s an integrity about the latter approach which may not always be found in the former. And this is where I’m sitting with Doctor Who as a woman.

No doubt there will be fun for the script writers (and hopefully viewers) in exploring the idea of the Doctor as female, but it does have the suspicious smell of being a bit showy, unimaginative and pandering.

The pursuit of truly seeking a creative path ahead for this established and much-loved character seems to have been overtaken by “brave decisions” and self-satisfied back slaps.

I do question the intention and artistic integrity of all this – based on my love for art in all its guises and the basic desire to see creatives pushing towards the future, rather than simply pleasing the present. (There’s your time travel reference!)

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I can’t believe how late this blog is! As my school teachers used to say as I handed in yet another post-deadline essay (on the burgeoning economics of La Rochelle’s tourist industry after the unexpected popularity brought on by the Tricolore textbooks had waned, for example).

But this is not homework, this is far more important than homework! (Don’t tell your parents I said that.) This is Comic 365, the internationally recognised (ahem) art (ahem) challenge drawn by a world-renowned and much-loved (ahem, could someone just get me a glass of water?) artist. Yes, I’m still talking about me.

If you’ve only recently tuned in to this experience of terrific a brief explanation is contained in these words.

Pages 9 through to 16 were an interesting bunch. Everything in me wanted to speed this comic strip malarkey up! Twenty four hours between each panel was dee-riving me crazy, Miss Daisy! I was so tempted to step on the figurative gas and punch this narrative into the figurative fifth gear. But I did not step on the aforementioned figurative gas because I quickly recognised that that decision would have turned this whole process into nothing more than simply a series of connecting illustrations, by removing the moment-by-moment imagery. And THAT, my friends, would have made this a charade.

As you no-doubt-well-know-well-no-doubt, a comic strip is more than just a collection of connected static images. A comic strip has movement! Something wondermentful happens between those panels as the eye/s move/s from one pic to the next. I can’t explain it (as demonstrated in that last sentence) but this is more than pretty drawings tacked onto an adjacent tale, this is holistic storytelling (and without words either, non-dialogue fans!).

So what I did is this: I beat down that cloying creature called Instinct, and cuffed the ear of the vile goblin known as Impatience and I slowed it all down even further. Drama is not to be found in haste (as my old drama teacher would’ve said, if he’d existed).

Y’see, after all the excitement has faded away (once it’s started), I want to ensure that we still have a piece of comic strip worth reading, even without the glamour of this Comic 365 Challenge. When this story eventually sees print (digital or inky) I’d like it to be a pleasurable experience for the reader, whether or not they’ve been part of this long drawn out exercise you and I are currently committed to – like an invisible contract you don’t remember signing, with invisible ink, in a room with no windows, at night, blindfolded, a lingering whiff of body odour in the air… sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?

Righto, chat over, see you back here in a few weeks. Love n’ biscuits for all! Flicko

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The art of art, if you will, or more particularly the art of cartooning lies in the removal of all unnecessary and extraneous description till what you have left is the essence of what is needed to visually express the necessary information. Feel free to disagree, this might just be me!

Part of my journey through the landscape of personal creativity was the desire to free myself from the tyranny of movement lines!

I know, there’s nothing inherently wrong with movement lines, they serve a valuable purpose; indicating direction, motion, action and speed for example. I appreciate some artists have even incorporated them as an integral part of their illustrative style; I’m thinking Kirby or nearly every Manga artist. But for me I found they were easily overused and became an excuse for not developing and imbuing my figures with their own natural energy and dynamism, rather I would rely on a flurry of lines to mask the obvious lack of movement in my characters!

I would think to myself, ‘If I can draw figures with sufficient kineticism I can do away with movement lines forever!’ Well, maybe my reliance on them, at least. I’d seen others do it: Jaime Hernandez, Adam Hughes, Grzegorz Rosiński, I’m sure you can think of others.

Okay, I admit (as I did previously in paragraph three) movement lines are useful, and having them in your toolbox is very handy. The key word here is ‘reliance’.

They still make an appearance in my artwork from time to time, but nowadays I’m in charge! Oh yes, and their inclusion is purely from necessity rather than trying to cover up my own lack of ability! My lack of ability is now on display for all to see.

I admit I’m quite surprised at how slow the pace has been; moving the story forward. I’m blaming the fact that this isn’t the normal way to write and draw comic strips.

(Turn away now if you don’t want to read any unwanted director’s commentary or potential schpoilers.)

I assumed our heroine would have arrived at her destination by now. This is still the opening credits! Maybe this is an opportunity for me to flag up that I think this might take longer than 365 days! Comic 731 anyone?

Talking of blah, it’s been interesting to look at the pacing now I’ve laid out the panels onto pages. Unfortunately by drawing one-a-day the tempo of the tale has been (maybe unhelpfully) heavily influenced by ‘real time’. Twenty four hours wouldn’t be the usual amount of time you’d spend in the gutter (technical term for that space between panels, not a literal gutter – though the comment still stands if that’s what you thought I meant).

Also as you may have seen, I’ve been using a couple of art pens, which have taken some getting used to. I normal hang out with the brushes and ink gang, y’see.

And getting some visual consistency has been challenging. It didn’t feel like I nailed the heroine’s ‘look’ till about Day 21.

Apologies, it sound like I’m complaining! This is meant to be fun, Flicko! Soz.

It has been an interesting experiment so far, and I’m sure there will be more interesting developments to note along the way. I appreciate I’m making a massive presumption that you’re interested in these meandering shoe-glazing reflections!

If you’re still here at the end of February we will chat again, and on that occasion I will try to turn up with a smile on my face rather than the contemplative visage I’m currently sporting!

Don’t forget you can see the brand new panels every day here. Just a push button push away!

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“Why on earth has that character got the head of a badger?!” That is a question I’ve heard many many times (twice). And I’m expecting to hear it even more once this crazy graphic novel is released and rockets up The Times bestseller list! (That. Is. Not. A. Joke.)

“Stop avoiding the question, Flicko!” Okay. We’re talking about anthropomorphism, as in, applying human forms or attributes to something which isn’t human. Of course, we all know this has been going on for years!

The ancient Egyptians had their share of animal-headed deities (e.g. jackal, falcon and crocodile), the Hindu pantheon as well (e.g. elephant and monkey) and in centuries past European explorers would often return home with tales of distant lands populated by men with the heads of dogs, even up to the medieval period.

But really it’s from literature and other media that I’ve taken my influence. Whether it’s The Island of Doctor Moreau, Alice in Wonderland, Une Semaine De Bonte, The Magic Finger, Jungle Book (which I hear has been made into an excellent book-of-the-film), Snoopy and any number of animated ‘funny animals’.

But in the early Rupert Bear stories, that’s where I particularly found talking animals to be pretty creepy and disconcerting, yet fascinating, especially as they lived alongside their human counterparts without anyone necessarily commenting, “Er, excuse me, but do you know you have the head of a hamster?”

So that’s my justification, y’honour, for including an evil mad scientist with the head of a badger in my comic! It’s grounded in an established history of literary anthropomorphic acceptance.

It’s handy as well, as it communicates – without words – this is not a normal situation; this is a fantastical world you are entering. I like to think it stimulates curiosity.

And if you’re drawing a black and white comic, a badger is ideal! I know, based on that, he could have been any monochromatic animal. But to be honest, there’s a certain simmering malevolence I was going for that I don’t think a Friesian cow could exactly pull off. Let alone squeeze those udders into a lab coat! I rest my case.

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This is the height chart I created (after I drew three issues!) as the characters’ proportions kept changing. There are times in the early strips that if Mockingbird was standing beside Diana she would essentially be headbutting her knee!